The Furry Problem
by FluffshipIsMagic
Summary: John rescues a kitten and brings it to Baker Street, and Sherlock is less than pleased. A bit of Johnlock, mainly friendship. Kitty cuteness galore, a bit of Sherlock sickness...
1. Doctor, not a Vet

**Hey Everyone! This is my first fanfiction, please review. I really love the idea of Johnlock and kittens combined, so here it is! Tell me if you want more, or want to see something in later chapters. Love to all!**

John walked through London after a particularly hard day at work. He had delivered a heck of a lot more sad news than usual, and a sour taste lingered in his mouth. He hated telling people the odds, it brought his mind tantalizingly close to his army days, and when he managed to stop those memories from coming, he thought about Sherlock. John never knew exactly what his friend was up to, or if his odds were good or bad. He found himself fidgeting in his chair most of the time, waiting for the moment Sherlock would storm up the stairs, covered in some messy substance, and complain or brag about his current case.

It was getting to the point where John could tell Sherlock's mood with a glance. Yet, John had been noticing a return in his nightmares, and the constant amount of stress that living with Sherlock provided was undoubtedly the cause. John needed something to calm him down, but what exactly? Listening to music was banned, as well as watching the telly (or at least most of the time). Reading was all that John had left, which would be fine if Sherlock didn't interrupt him every five seconds by asking him for a cup of tea, his phone, his opinion, etc.

And so it happened that John found himself walking home from work instead of taking a cab, just to spend time away from Sherlock. On these walks, John found himself…guilty for some reason. It wasn't like he didn't care about Sherlock anymore; he was still his closest friend. Sometimes, a doctor just needs a break. John was shaken of his thoughts as he heard a loud meowing sound coming from the dumpster in the nearby alley. Afraid that a poor cat had gotten thrown inside, John peered into the heap of garbage, daring to dig through some of it.

Nothing. John stopped, cocking his head as he listened. The sound was coming from behind the dumpster, not in it. Carefully, John tilted his head to look behind, and, sure enough, he saw two cat eyes staring back at him. This was a very scared, and very alone, kitten that needed his help.

The kitten was stuck. John immediately went into army doctor mode, he had seen many men trapped in fallen buildings, and was determined to save this tiny cat. John pushed the dumpster away from the wall with one hand, keeping the other hand on the kitten so it wouldn't run away. The completely black kitten tried to struggle, but was incredibly weak with what John assumed was hunger. The kitten was also damp from the downpour an hour or so ago, and John tucked the exhausted feline into his inside pocket, quickening his step as he headed home.

John finally reached the flat, practically running upstairs. The kitten had fallen asleep, or at least John hoped it was sleep, and was therefore silent. John quickly started to tend for the incredibly small kitten, which he discovered was definitely a boy. It's pulse was weak, but the kitten was still alive, and slowly freezing to death. John found the closest piece of fabric, which was a familiar blue shade, but John didn't have time to process. He was in doctor mode. Dr. Watson lit the fire, wishing it would heat quicker. Than he wrapped the blue blanket, or whatever-it-was, around the kitten, letting it's tiny head peek out so it could breathe.

Now to tend to the food. Luckily, John had a particular fondness for seafood, and managed to find one last can of tuna. Peeling away the metal lid, John tried to decide between water and milk. Sensing that the kitten was indeed very young, John decided on milk. The closest thing John could find to a bowl in Sherlock and his' mess of a kitchen was a petri dish, so John poured the milk in and heated it slightly in the microwave (after he removed the eyeballs, of course). Curse Sherlock and his experiments.

Carrying the milk and tuna over to the fireplace, John gently nudged the kitten, which was thankfully still alive and much dryer than before. The startled Kitten woke up, smelling the food. Stretching, it cautiously walked over to the can and dish, contemplating which to try first. The ball of black fur decided on the tuna, and greedily ate most of the can. Then, it moved over to the milk, it's tiny pink tongue lapping it up.

For the first time in a while, John found himself smiling. Finally, he was at peace, with no patients, Sherlock, or- Wait a minute. John slowly started to think, and he frantically looked around the flat. Where was Sherlock? John got out his phone**, no new messages.**

**Sherlock? Where are you? **As John typed, he made his way to Sherlock's room. There he found his friend, his fingers preparing to text a reply.

"Sherlock! What are you doing in your bed?" John was shocked to see his friend sitting on his own bed, staring at nothing.

"I'm preparing myself for sleep, John. Isn't that what most people do?"

"That's what normal people do, yes. But I've never seen you be normal in your life."

"You're avoiding me, John." Sherlock's low voice was quiet, but John could sense an underlying current of…hurt, maybe?

"Sorry?"

"You don't take cabs anymore to spend more time away from me, you never talk to me, and it took you five minutes and twenty-seven seconds to realize I was gone. Or maybe you realized and didn't- Never mind, you were panicked when you realized, so it must have taken you by surprise." Sherlock suddenly looked up at John, his eyes squinting with suspicion. "What's downstairs?"

John looked nervously down at his feet. "Well, um…"

"Oh never mind, I'll see for myself."

John slowly made his way downstairs, regretting bringing the kitten inside in the first place.

"JOHN! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY ROBE?"

Oh, that's why that color was familiar. Whoops.

Sherlock had his lips pressed closely together, his eyes glaring at John.

"You are a doctor, John, not a veterinarian."

"He was trapped! I couldn't just let him die. I don't expect you to understand that, though, you're Sherlock Homes for God's sake!"

"I wouldn't make assumptions, John." Sherlock's tone was angry, but his eyes softened as he spoke.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did. It's quite all right, John. You would have been completely accurate a few months ago." Sherlock closed his eyes, deleting those words the second they came out of his mouth. John, however, was focusing on them, trying to figure out what had happened a few months ago. "You are aware that Mrs. Hudson does not allow pets?"

John snapped back to reality, and he nodded sadly. He hadn't been aware, but there was no need to tell Sherlock that. He stared down at the little black kitten, which had snuggled back into Sherlock's robe and was purring contentedly. John felt an overwhelming amount of sadness for some reason, and tried to sound casual as he replied, "Yeah, I'll take him to the pound tomorrow."

Sherlock had been lost in thought himself; staring at John's disappointed face with a strange pang in his stomach. _I must have not eaten enough, _Sherlock thought. He did not want to deal with the possibility that John being sad was also making him sad. "I suppose, since it's a kitten, that you could tend to it for a while. Taking it to the pound would be a waste of time."

John's face lit up, and he almost hugged Sherlock. He quickly diverted his attention and picked up the kitten instead, smiling as it yawned and snuggled into his shoulder. "Thanks, Sherlock." John knew all too well that Sherlock had simply given in; the pound _was_ the most logical choice.

John picked up Sherlock's robe and started down the stairs.

"John, where are you going with my robe?"

"I thought you'd want it washed…"

"Oh, yes, very well. Tell Mrs. Hudson to wash it quickly, It's going to be cold in the morning and I'll need it." Sherlock shivered, wishing he could just take it out of John's hand, but that stupid cat had stepped all over it. Sherlock sneezed, glaring as he yanked tissues out of the box on the counter.

Stupid allergies.


	2. A Petri Cat

**Hey everybody! Sorry that took so long, finshing up school and such. So, this is a shorter chapter about Sherlock's encounters with "the cat" and the cat gets a name! Please review, I will send kittens and hugs your way (metaphorically) :) Thanks to everyone who already has, it made me feel all cozy-warm inside, like John had just made me tea...**

**Disclaimer: I, obviously, do not own Sherlock. If I did, I would be a much better writer, cooler, and wouldn't have the time to write fanfiction.**

There were very few things that affected Sherlock Holmes. He did not get hungry, he didn't need sleep, and he didn't get sick. He was immune to everything. Or, at least, that's what he told everyone. There was, unfortunately, one condition that Sherlock had. He was allergic to cats.

So, when Sherlock ran downstairs and was met by a fuzzy ball of fur snuggled into his beloved blue robe, he was furious. There was no way he was going to let John know of his allergies, it was much too embarrassing. The most logical procedure, therefore, would have been to get rid of the cat, clean the apartment, and carry on as if nothing had happened. That's exactly what Sherlock was going to do, until John looked up at him with those sad, dark blue eyes, and Sherlock went against simple logic.

That was a definite first.

Sherlock had decided to text his dreadful brother rather than live with a sad John for a few weeks. The thought was shocking, and Sherlock's mind froze as it figured out what to do with it. This thought, was classified under _sentiment_ of all things. However, the door to sentiment had been sealed shut and blocked by boulders. So, the thought wandered aimlessly, annoying every inch of Sherlock and breaking his concentration. What had he even been doing in the first place?

That's right, texting Mycroft. Dull. **Need allergy medicine. Send immediately. –SH**

The reply came back almost instantaneously, Mycroft being the concerned brother that he was. **Tell John he can't keep the cat. Not worth getting you all fuzzy minded. –MH**

Sherlock hated the surveillance Mycroft put on his flat, but at least he never had to explain.

** I believe the point of medication is to prevent that. Get me some. –SH **

** Get rid of cat. Problem solved. – MH**

** Can't. Get me some. –SH**

Mycroft didn't respond. Sherlock glared at the phone, willing it to beep. John's voice suddenly came into Sherlock's head: _Manners will get you a lot farther than you think, Sherlock. Try it some time._

** Please. – SH **

** Fine. – MH **

John was still downstairs washing Sherlock's robe, so the consulting detective was left to observe his new pet. It wasn't an ugly cat, with its bright blue eyes peeking out from underneath a black coat. In fact, Sherlock had always admired cats for their intelligence, but still hated them for being the only thing that penetrated his brilliant mind. The kitten had now managed to finish all of his milk and tuna, and calmly stared at Sherlock.

"Interesting. You're about four weeks old, judging from your ears and ability to walk. You're not a runt, so you were not abandoned because of size. You were, for some reason, less important to your mother, though, because otherwise she would have been there when John found her. You could have been lost long ago, but you would have been dead by now, kittens need nursing often. So, you were only abandoned recently. Most likely because something scared your mother off, and she ran away, leaving you stuck behind a dumpster. A bit cruel, but cats have less sentiment than humans, so don't be too sad. It was in her nature."

The cat stared unblinking at Sherlock, unimpressed.

"Did you really just deduce the _cat's_ background?" John was at the top of the stairs, trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked, not giving John the satisfaction of seeing him embarrassed.

"Nope. You do talk to skulls, I don't know why I was so surprised."

"Neither do I." To Sherlock's horror, his statement was followed by a loud sneeze.

"Are you all right?" John had that concerned look on his face, and Sherlock was not about to let John go "Dr. Watson" on him.

"I'm fine." Sherlock made a desperate attempt to change the subject. "I'm assuming you've named this feline "friend" of yours?"

"Uh, well. I had thought of one, but…You see, I didn't have a bowl so I had to use"

"For God's sake, John. What did you name it?"

"Petri."

"As in, the petri dishes I use in my experiments? Why would you name it-"

"Because we were out of bowls, so I had to use a petri dish to feed it." Sherlock jumped up.

"Which one? Was it clean? Why are you touching my things?"

"Yes, Sherlock, it was clean. I washed it three times to make sure. And, as I've explained already-"

"You didn't have a bowl. I suppose, it's a nice name. Not as bad as Lulu or Stripes."

John let out a little laugh. "That's what I was thinking. Right, well… I'm making some tea, would you like some?"

"Yes."

As John was busy making tea, Sherlock found himself staring at the kitten, now named Petri, who was awake and walking towards Sherlock. Petri pawed at Sherlock's suit, and began to meow. "John?"

"Yeah, hold on, Sherlock, it's still heating up."

"No, not the tea! That blasted kitten of yours is hu- hung- Achoo! Hungry. That stupid cat is hungry."

"Oh, right. I needed to run to the store… I'll give it some milk to satisfy it for now. You sure you're alright? Do you have a cold? I know you said you don't get colds, but-"

"I don't! I don't get sick!" Sherlock was now battling the kitten, trying to avoid touching it with his bare skin. The kitten, being smaller, was getting dangerously close to Sherlock's lap. "Actually, John, I'll go get the cat food for you."

"You'll…Sorry, what?"

"I'll go get the kitten supplies." Sherlock was particularly annoyed by John's flabbergasted tone. Was he really that unhelpful? Yes, yes he was. "Helping" was not in his nature, it was too close to sentiment.

"Oh, alright. Are-are you sure? Do you even know where the store _is_?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I have every street in London memorized, of course I know where the store is."

"Well, you don't know where the sun is, so…"

"Not this again. I'm out!" Sherlock grabbed his coat, sneezing again as he walked out the door.

"Oh, try to get formulated kitten milk! It's better for them. And actual cat food! Oh, and maybe a few blankets since you're so keen on it not using your robe."

"I've got it, John."

"Uh, okay! If you're sure…"

And so, the great Sherlock Holmes went to the grocery store, and Dr. Watson stared after him in pure shock.

**Coming up: Will Sherlock survive his trip? Will John recover from his shock? Was Petri better off in the streets? Alert and favorite to find out soon!**


	3. Sleeping Doctors and Panicked Detectives

**Hey guys! Sorry for the delay, just got my Sherlock series 2 DVD and have been watching the episodes a wee bit too much, hehe. Now, I'm in a cozy sweater with a cup of tea and a blanket, so if this comes out incredibly fluffy you know why...;)**

"Sorry, you want what?" American, around twenty years old, recently transferred to a college in London. Her parents did not approve of the move, so she was paying for it by herself. This was her second job; her first was at a coffee shop. The girl was also incredibly unintelligent.

"Cat supplies. I'm assuming you have a pet section?"

"Err, yeah. It's, uh, it's right across from the toy section." The girl pointed vaguely, and Sherlock clenched his fist.

"Thank you for that wonderful advice. I'm sure I'll find it."

"Uh, yeah, no problem!"

Sherlock stormed off in the direction the girl had been pointing, taking everything in. It didn't take long before he found the ridiculously small pet section, which contained a few brightly colored toys and not much else. "Idiots. Why can't they just put everything you need in one blasted store?" A woman who was walking by with her kid looked at him strangely, and he straightened his coat and headed for the door, sneering at the woman.

"John, that woman who was just looking at us is having an affair with a policeman. The child with her isn't even hers, she just found out. Obviously, she's having the affair to retaliate. Rather hypocritical to look at us like we're strange, isn't it?" Sherlock turned to look at John, who wasn't there. For a second, Sherlock felt sad, but then he recollected himself, turning his coat collar up. He smiled as he remembered John, _"Turning your coat collar up so you look cool."_

"I don't do that," Sherlock said as he headed to the nearest pet store.

"_Yeah, you do."_

Meanwhile, In 221 B, John was making himself another cup of tea. It was a special calming kind that John had meant to test on Sherlock, but Sherlock had discovered his intentions and given John a lecture on the disaster calming tea would be on his brilliant mind. He continued on to say that if John ever attempted anything like that again Sherlock would experiment on his favorite jumper.

Remembering, John hugged himself, protecting his jumper from Sherlock. A slight meow brought John back to the flat. "Oh, Petri. What are we going to do with Sherlock. Seriously, what?" The kitten looked up at him and tilted his head, thinking. Petri apparently decided that John needed comforting and rubbed his tiny head against John's leg.

John smiled and held Petri against him. As the black ball of fur clung to him, John turned the now steaming kettle off. Right before he began to make his tea, a sudden wave of fatigue hit him, and he put his cup back in the cupboard, heading for the couch.

He laid there with Petri sprawled out on his chest, thinking. It had been a long night, and John needed some sleep. Sherlock would probably burst in on him and wake him up, but John didn't care. Petri's purring was soft and quiet, lulling him to sleep and taking away his concern at Sherlock's behavior. His concern was why he had been making calming tea in the first place, of course. Sherlock had offered to help _and_ allowed John something he obviously didn't want in the flat. It was almost like, hell, it _was_ sentiment. Which, according to Sherlock, was a chemical defect found on the losing side.

Not that he minded Sherlock caring, but it was so unnatural that John was worried that Sherlock had lost it, or maybe he was dreaming. He had dreamt of Sherlock before, as embarrassing as it was. Not romantically, of course, just little things where he would solve a case and Sherlock would be proud or Sherlock would ask him for help saying, "I'd be lost without my blogger." It was starting to be a common thing, and John would wake up from his dream and stumble downstairs, avoiding Sherlock's eye contact. If John was being honest, his feelings were the real reason he had been avoiding Sherlock, and not his stressful lifestyle.

John continued to think, but after a while he gave up. Who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes, after all. With that, he snuggled into the couch and fell asleep.

Sherlock was not having a good night. He had dealt with far too many Andersons and had been stuck inside a pet store for fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds. Finally, he was in the check-up line, with a less interesting than the previous but equally daft cashier.

"New kitten?" the boy inquired as he scanned the kitten formula.

"Yes."

"I love cats, I got three at 'ome. No kittens though."

"Obviously. One of your cats is very sick though, the white haired one. You don't want to put her down, but you're being pressured by your…girlfriend? No, wait- Oh, sister, got it. You're being pressured by your sister to. I don't understand why you won't end your cat's misery, but my friend John Watson explained that it's a part of sentiment." Sherlock looked up, expecting to see a shocked look on the boy's face. Instead, the boy looked excited.

"Oh my god, Sherlock 'olmes! I didn't recognize you without the 'at thing… Why isn't Watson with ya? Is it true that you two are together?"

"Who told you that?"

"Well, um, no one really. My buddies and I were speculatin' at the pub. I said to 'em, have you seen the way Sherlock 'olmes looks at Watson? He loves 'im! Oh, that'll be…" Sherlock hastily paid the boy, his mind racing around in shock. All this sentiment was getting out of control. Did he really look at John that way? Like he- Sherlock couldn't bring himself to think the word. He ran out of the store, holding on to the bags so tightly it hurt while the cashier yelled, "Oy! You never answered my question!"

Sherlock entered 221-B quieter than usual, having spent the entire walk home in his mind palace. John was probably asleep, and Sherlock felt relieved; he didn't know what seeing John would do to him while he was in this state.

Then, he heard a faint snoring. Sherlock knew John snored, but he was never able to hear it from downstairs. The logical conclusion was that John was either in Sherlock's room, which made Sherlock's heart speed up a little more than usual, or, John was in the main-

Sherlock finally spotted John curled up into the couch, Petri on top of him. _John._ The army doctor had a small smile on his face, and was very quietly snoring. Normally, Sherlock would find the noise annoying, but John made a rather adorable sound. Petri was also snoring, making little puttering noises as his tiny chest moved up and down.

Sherlock slowly made his way to the couch, sitting down in front of it and hugging his knees. He was ignoring the fact that he had just called John adorable, and was focusing on his friend's face. It was true, Sherlock would be very different without John. Suddenly, the consulting detective's nose started to tingle. He pinched his nose, but he still let out a small sneeze. Sherlock's head whipped around to see if he had awakened John.

The small man slightly shifted in his sleep, tilting Petri enough that the kitten was forced to jump off of John's chest and into Sherlock's lap. Sherlock immediately shoved Petri off of him, but it had been enough contact to send Sherlock into a series of sneezes.

"Sherlock?" John's voice was mumbled as he reached out for his flat mate. His hand landed in a mop of dark curls, but instead of pulling away he simply stroked it, sending shivers down Sherlock's back. "Just Petri… Sherlock's still gone." Realizing that his hair had been mistaken for Petri, Sherlock touched John's arm.

"John, it's me."

"Oh, sorry." John moved his hand, turning away from Sherlock and snuggling deeper into the couch. "It's cold."

"Mmm…" Sherlock stood up, looking for any form of warmth he could find. His eyes fell on his favorite blue dressing gown. He grabbed it, and laid it across his friend. John grabbed it, pulling it closer to him.

"Thanks, Sherlock," he murmured.

The pair sat together, both perfectly content in their own thoughts.

**Ta-da! Anyone suffocate from the fluffiness? I hope not... Anywho, any scenarios you would like to put Sherlock and his feline Petri dish in? Please tell me! I have my own plot developments of course (Suspence) but I'll try to squeeze in your requests in if they fit. Please review and favorite/alert; kittens, jumpers, and hugs will be coming your way!**


	4. Mycroft's Message

**Eeek! Sorry I took so long, so much for I'll have more time in the summer... Anyways, I hope this chapter makes up for it, and I'll really really try to have the next chapter up way sooner! As always, thank you to all of my faithful reviewers, I can always count on you guys to brighten my day! :) Oh, and this chapter is shorter because it was a good stopping point...Ok, now you can read, oh wait!**

**Disclaimer: Ha, as if... **

**NOW you can read :)**

John woke up smelling like lab equipment and Sherlock's favorite soap. He panicked for a second, wondering if he had slept in Sherlock's bed and, if he had_, why couldn't he remember anything?_ Then it hit him. He was on the couch, with Sherlock's robe wrapped around him. It was warmer than John expected it to be, and he snuggled into it, a small smile on his face.

Sherlock watched John wake up, studying the doctor as he pulled the robe closer to him. Something about John's action made Sherlock's heart beat a little faster, and he quietly got up, scared that John would hear his heartbeat. The dark haired man paced around in frustration; if he didn't get a case soon he might just hug or, God forbid, kiss his flatmate. He had always liked being around John, the doctor seemed to emanate warmth wherever he went. The need was getting stronger, however, and that combined with his irregular heartbeat was driving Sherlock insane. Not to mention Mycroft hadn't delivered his medicine and he sneezed and his eyes watered whenever Petri walked by.

Thinking of the cat, Sherlock looked around to find Petri sleeping on _his _armchair. He had realized that the kitten must be starving at around midnight when it started to meow, and the consulting detective had fed Petri his formula in a petri dish, glad that no one was around to see him. He had been sneezing the entire time, of course, but held his nose so he didn't wake John. Which, was ridiculous because he didn't care about John's sleeping habits, or at least he didn't used to. Sherlock sneered in disgust at his own lovesick behavior. Then, he buried his head in his hands, did he really just say _lovesick?_

In a burst of anger, Sherlock whipped out his phone and called Lestrade.

"Hello?" A tired but very familiar voice answered. Sherlock knew Lestrade was already at work, but hadn't, from the amount of time he took to answer his phone, had his first cup of coffee.

"Do you have any cases?"

"Not really… And good morning to you too."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the DI's last comment. "You said not really, which means there is one you just don't think I'll be interested. What is it? Where is it?"

"Well, if you use your rating system it's about a four, pretty open and shut."

"Where. Is. It?" Sherlock was fuming by now; words could not describe how much he needed this case. Lestrade gave him the address, and Sherlock used what was left of his self-control to walk calmly out of the flat.

"Bye, Sherlock." A yawning voice came from the couch, and the detective grinned as he put on his gloves.

"Goodbye, John."

"Do you…need me to come?"

"No, you can sleep."

"That's…unusually nice of you."

Sherlock humphed lightly, once again insulted but aware that John's comment was true. "Yes, well, I can't have my blogger asleep when a really good case comes up, can I?"

"Logical, as always." John giggled lightly from the couch, and Sherlock grinned and left the flat, once again panicked that his emotions would get the best of him.

Once Sherlock left, John got up from the couch, knowing that sleep was a lost cause. Suddenly he heard a small beep coming from Sherlock's…coat. Sherlock must have been in a hurry to leave if he left his phone and his coat. Come to think of it, he had sounded rather desperate for a case. John sighed and got the phone out of the pocket, smiling as he remembered when Sherlock had demanded that John get his phone out of his pocket while _wearing_ his coat. John had been reluctant because he thought he might just blush if forced to be so close to the consulting detective, which would definitely not go unnoticed by the most observant man in the world. John had managed, however, using the skills he had learned in the military.

**New Text from Mycroft Holmes**

Well, that was a coincidence. Mycroft had been texting Sherlock when John had to get the phone the first time, too. Knowing that he would have been reading it if Sherlock was there anyways, John had no problem with opening the text.

**Sherlock, your allergy medicine is ready to pick up. Unless, common sense has finally reached you and you got rid of that cat.**

John stared at the phone for a while before starting to react, muttering "Jesus," again and again. Although not as smart as his flatmate, it didn't take John long to figure out what had been happening. Sherlock was allergic to cats. He was allergic and he hadn't told John, letting him keep the kitten even though it would affect him. Poor Sherlock.

John made his way to Sherlock's room, wanting to be certain. Sure enough, under Sherlock's nightstand and behind yet another microscope were boxes of tissues, all empty.

John looked over at Petri, who was standing in the doorway. John had meant to feed Petri, and the kitten was now healthy. He had been planning to take Petri to the vet today, but now… Now he had to take his new-found friend somewhere else.

John picked up the kitten, and Petri let out a quizzical meow, similar to Sherlock when John had tried to explain "The face" to him. Actually, Petri reminded John of Sherlock in a lot of ways, his quiet nature that quickly turned into loud meowing when he was upset, his curiosity, his look of "You're an idiot"… Suddenly, John had an epiphany. He loved Petri so much because he was Sherlock, but he could actually comfort and cuddle this version.

"Oh, Petri. I'm so sorry you can't stay…" He held the soft kitten up to his face, and Petri rubbed John's cheek with his head.

Putting on his coat and placing Petri in the same pocket he had the other day, John reluctantly headed to the pound, a sad pang in his heart as he marched determinedly.

**Oh no... Poor Johnny and Petri! How do you think Sherlock will react? More importantly, is LoveMyIrishDarlings ever going to stop the tension and make this story actual johnlock? Will Sherlock finally get his blue robe to himself? Update and review to find out soon! And I give you permission to bully me if I don't get this next chapter out soon. Hugs and cuddles to all!**


	5. Someone Took My Kitten

**Basically, I am way too nice and I felt bad for putting you guys in misery for too long. So, I finished up this chapter, which is longer, yehay! I would like to thank amirizar2003, TheFamouslyUnfamousAuthor, and SomeoneSarah for reviewing basically every chapter, it really makes my day! And TheFamouslyUnfamousAuthor, I can't message you privately, so I wanted to say thanks a billion for the reviews and funny little insights :). To all my other reviewers, I love you guys as much as I love john's jumpers and thanks for the virtual hugs/cookies/whatever you like to call them! I hope this chapter is less suspenseful for everybody!**

**Disclaimer: Erm, do I write like I own Sherlock? I don't think so, but I'm flattered that you felt the need to check...**

While John was battling with his conscience, Sherlock was on the other side of London having an entirely different battle. The case Lestrade had wasn't a four, it was a one. Majorly, in every way, a one. By the time Sherlock arrived, even Anderson had figured out that it was, in fact, suicide. The boy had left a note explaining everything, and had a list of the bullies. Sad and depressing, but there was nothing anyone could do.

"Well, I guess there's nothing for you to do, Sherlock. You can run back home to John. Mycroft was telling me that John brought home a kitten?"

Panic filled Sherlock. He couldn't go back home yet, he hadn't gotten John off of his mind at all. The so-called case hadn't solved anything! "No! I, um… Don't you have anything else?"

"No, Sherlock. I can't let you trample over every case; I'm breaking too many rules already."

"Wait! This case, something's wrong about it. It was too easy!" Sherlock whirled around, looking under couches and ripping open drawers. "It wasn't actually suicide, just made to look like it. Remember the last case, a study in pink or whatever?"

"For God's sake...How can you be sure?" Lestrade was looking at Sherlock with confusion on his face; even he knew when a case was a simple one.

"Um, the… The rope! See how it's knotted? That's a common knot, but he wouldn't have used it! He was too clever, he attended private school after all. If you attend private school you don't use common knots!" Sherlock grinned triumphantly. "Now, let's go interview the rest of the family."

"Sherlock…Are you feeling well?"

"I DON'T GET SICK!"

Everyone at the crime scene turned to look at the crazed consulting detective. Lestrade rubbed his face with his hands. "Alright, Sherlock. I think it's time you went home… I'm going to call John, just stay calm."

"No! Don't call John, I'll go home." Sherlock sounded like a kid in the principal's office who had just been threatened with a parent phone call. Reluctantly, he headed to the main road to call a taxi.

It was noon when he reached the flat, filled with trepidation as he opened the door. "John?" Sherlock looked at the coat rack, realizing that he had left his own coat and that John's coat wasn't there. _He must have left_, Sherlock mused.

Wondering if Petri had been fed, the consulting detective looked around for the small lump of fur. He checked the armchairs and his bed, then, as a last resort, started calling the kitten's name, even making those clicky noises that John made. There was still no response.

Feeling his heart start to beat a little faster (Again) Sherlock reached for his phone, realizing that he had left it in his coat. Or had he? The phone was gone. John could have heard it go off and had decided to take it to Sherlock, but John would have phoned Lestrade to see where the case was and the detective inspector's phone hadn't gone off the entire time Sherlock was there. Granted, he wasn't there for long, but he still should have heard it. Well, Mrs. Hudson did have a phone, as John had pointed out months ago.

Sherlock ran down the stairs, yelling, "MRS. HUDS- Oof." He ran into what he assumed was a wall, but upon opening his eyes Sherlock saw it was his doctor, who was now clutching the railing. Apparently, John had not lost his military strength.

"Jesus, Sherlock! Another case?"

"No, I- Do you have Petri?"

"I was meaning to talk to you about that…"

"John! Petri's gone! I can't find him anywhere in the flat! Do you think he got out? I am so sorry, John, I don't-"

"Sherlock, calm down, it's ok."

"No, it not okay!" John looked up at his flat mate and grinned, remembering when he had been the one saying those lines.

"I'll explain everything, now would you just move aside so I can get up to our flat?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, calming himself. Slowly, he turned around, heading back up the stairs. When he got there, he started to sit down in his chair, but stood back up when he realized that Petri had been sitting there.

"Don't worry, I vacuumed the entire flat."

"You-"Sherlock looked up, startled and praying that he had misunderstood.

"I know you're allergic. I took Petri to the pound, he'll be well cared for and they're sure that he'll be adopted soon, since he's a kitten. What I don't understand is why you didn't tell me, I mean, I would have taken him to the pound right away."

Sherlock was getting up and putting on his coat.

"Sherlock? Where are you going?"

"To the pound. Someone has taken my kitten without permission."

"_Your_ kitten- Sherlock, you're allergic!"

"Thank-you, John, but I am perfectly aware of my condition. Now are you coming?"

"I can't let you do this! You can't just live on allergy medicine, and it must be harder to think… Why are you even doing this?"

"Because, John, it had come to my attention that you weren't feeling the best, and even though you only had Petri for a day or so he has done you a world of good and lifted your mood immensely."

"Why should that matter to you?"

"Come now, John, don't you remember? I'd be lost without my blogger. So, it is in my highest interest that he is happy, and therefore I'm willing to compromise."

"You never compromise."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'll only compromise for you."

John smiled, "That's what best friends do, I guess."

"Right. Now, let's go rescue our kitten."

"Are you sure…" John was standing by the door now, but he pulled back to look at Sherlock.

"For God's sake, come on." Without thinking Sherlock grabbed his friend by the wrist and pulled him down the stairs. As they were waiting for a taxi, Sherlock heard John cough nervously. "What?" He looked down at his hand still grabbing the doctor's wrist and quickly pulled away. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, it's just, usually you hold the person's _hand_, like this…" John grabbed Sherlock's hand, quickly looking away and scanning the street. The consulting detective smiled at his doctor before scanning the street as well, finally spotting a cab. "TAXI!" He yelled, raising the hand not holding John's.

John reluctantly let go of Sherlock's hand, crawling into the taxi. Sherlock followed him, his mind racing a hundred miles an hour. During the last five minutes he had gathered more sentimental thoughts than he had ever had in his life, and they were flooding his mind palace. The door to sentiment was still closed, but Sherlock knew it was cracking. He just had to break it somehow.

"John?"

The doctor turned to look at him, still a bit embarrassed by his previous action.

"How would you describe… sentiment?"

"A chemical defect found on the losing side." John grinned, obviously pleased with his answer.

Sherlock was not amused. "That's how_ I_ describe sentiment, idiot."

John laughed, unfazed by the insult. "Fine. I guess, it's caring about someone and doing anything for that person, being able to comp-"

John's eyes widened and Sherlock could tell he was realizing something. "And being able to compromise," he repeated, amazed at his own words.

Sherlock remembered his words from a few minutes ago and found his eyes widening as well. _Sentiment. What he felt for John Watson. Caring. Love_. "Oh." The wall cracked, and the thoughts that had been bugging Sherlock for days finally settled into the once empty room in his mind palace, and the consulting detective was at peace.

"What?" John was staring at his friend intently.

"I just discovered sentiment."

The doctor, _Sherlock's_ doctor, smiled and gently squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Congratulations, but I think you already knew what it was, deep down."

"I think you're right."

"What was that?"

"You heard me."

**Awwww... Look at that! Happiness! _BUT_ THIS IS NOT WHERE OUR STORY ENDS (Dun dun dun)! A small black ball of furry (See what I did there?) needs saving! PETRI! We're coming! Or, the author is typing furiously, more like it. Although, I bet the poor kitty could use some virtual cuddles right now via reviews (hint hint) and so could the author (giant hint hint) However, I embark on a mysterious trek tomorrow, but I will have a fully charged laptop, so hopefully when a get back in a few days time I'll have an update. **

** Love and kitty snuggles to all!**


	6. An Interlude of Sorts

**Hey loves, I just wanted to post this quick little scene I came up with before I leave. I'm calling it an interlude. I also wanted to take this time to say that there are only three or so chapters left of the honest to goodness Petri plot! I know; I'm sad as well. However, I love that little fuzz ball too much to say goodbye! So, my dear readers, would you like another story (Six chapters, similar to this one, plots and mysteries galore?) or a series of drabbles dedicated to Sherlock and his kitten? Any other ideas? Review or message me! As always, thanks for reviewing, all of you guys are so dedicated. Thanks to BoudicaFlamespirit and Jenna Yemowa for the hugs and cuddles !**

Ms. Darling walked through the kennels for the fifth time. Working at a pound was hard, especially when you had to see the poor animals being abandoned. Earlier today a shorter man had come in, saying that he had to get rid of his cat because his flat mate was allergic. He had looked so sad that Ms. Darling had found it hard to not run over and hug him. The kitten he was holding was probably the most adorable thing she had seen in a while, with bright blue eyes and midnight black fur. When she had reached out to hold it, however, the kitten had clung to the man's jumper, meowing pitifully.

"Sorry, he- um, is a little scared to let go." Ms. Darling had nodded, but she knew that the man was talking about himself as well. Soon, she had gently dislodged the kitten from its owner, and the kitten struggled in her hands. It was a very young kitten, but amazingly well cared for, usually people find kittens and don't take care for them right. Suddenly, a thought hit her.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, did you buy him or find him?"

"I found him. I was going to take him to the vet today, but, well, you know."

Ms. Darling sighed, "You realize this kitten is most likely attached to you like he would be to his mother, right?"

"I thought so, but- I just can't with my flat mate and- um…"

"I understand. It's just going to be hard for a while. Would you mind visiting him daily? Then we can go to weekly and such to slowly get him used to being without you. I'm sure he'll be adopted soon, but we can't really let him go until he's built up a dependency. "

"Fine, that's fine. I'll stop by on my way to work… Is eight o'clock alright?"

"Perfect, Mr…"

"Watson. John Watson."

"Thank you, John."

The man opened his mouth, then closed it, deciding to simply nod his head and walk out.

Ms. Darling held the kitten close, grabbing a blanket from a cabinet and wrapping it around the kitten. She petted him for a couple of minutes, and the kitten slowly started to calm down and then started to purr. "Don't worry, kitty, something tells me your Mr. Watson will be back." For a second, Ms. Darling thought she saw the kitten nod in agreement, but it was probably just a trick of the light.

**Huh, I wonder where I got the Darling name… Anyways, yay for kitty purrs and the like! I'm leaving right now (Like, seriously in a minute or so) so I won't be able to reply until Sunday afternoon. Tell me your ideas, though, I appreciate them, as well as any reviews whatsoever! I love all of you guys like Sherlock loves his sheet! Farewell for now!**


	7. Rescues and Realizations

**Hey, I'm baaaack! I hope this conclusion works for you, and I promise that I will have drabbles coming up. (So author alert me if you want) Thank you to all of my precious reviewers, you guys really inspired me to continue with this story and have given me and Petri countless amounts of cuddles and hugs! I love you all like Sherlock loves John (Which, in my opinion, is a heck of a lot). **

**Disclaimer: *Looks to the sky* Wait for it... Dang! Benedict did not drop out of the sky. I am so dissapointed.**

Sherlock might have loved John, but he was still a sociopath in every other way. So, when he burst through the doors of the pound and demanded that they release Petri at once on police orders, he didn't understand why John and the lady at the desk just laughed.

"The allergic flat mate, I assume?"

John nodded, still laughing in that infectious way of his.

"Well, I had a feeling you would be back so I didn't file anything. Wait right here." The lady smiled slyly and slipped behind an employee only door.

Sherlock looked at his friend with a slight frown on his face. "Why would she do that? Why? Isn't that against the rules of this place?"

"You break rules for me, right? So it's a part of…"

"Sentiment. I realize that that's what it is, but she barely knows you."

John just shook his head. "So, are you planning on getting shots then?"

"What?"

"For your allergies, are you getting shots or taking pills?"

"Pills." Sherlock hated shots, they reminded him of times without his friend, alone and taking drugs just to cure his boredom.

"Are you sure? Shots are usually more-"

"John, I realize you're a doctor but I am not completely stupid when it comes to medicine. I will use whatever methods I prefer."

"Right, fine then." They stood there awkwardly for a minute, both trying to figure out what the hell was going on between them. John loved Sherlock as a friend, of course, and was slowly becoming convinced that he would never really end up with someone else. His past girlfriends had all proved that, he would choose life with Sherlock over them every time. However, did that really mean he wanted to be with Sherlock in the romantic sense? For some reason, the idea seemed laughable. Sherlock would never be the caring sort, it just wasn't him, and John wouldn't want Sherlock any other way.

Sherlock was struggling with the caring aspect as well. It was obvious that John had somehow broken through his walls, but the consulting detective could never really be affectionate like boyfriends and such were expected to be. John was just his doctor, his flat mate, his. There was no other way to put it, Sherlock knew John would always be there, and that was enough.

"John-" Sherlock was about to ask what he thought of their relationship, but was cut off by a small meow.

"Petri!" John's face lit up in an overjoyed smile, and Sherlock himself was trying not to grin. The lady started to hand the kitten over to John, but Sherlock cut in.

"Thank you, but I will be holding him for the time being."

"But I thought you were-"

"Allergic? Yes, but my condition has been greatly exagger- er-"Sherlock sneezed, and, avoiding the lady's smirk, quickly walked out the door.

John laughed, and thanked the lady. "No problem, your boyfriend seems very eager to have his pet back."

"He's not- You know what? Never mind, thanks again." John walked out, almost running into Sherlock, who was over his embarrassing sneeze and was absently stroking Petri's head. "You're only going to sneeze more if you keep touching him."

"He's my kitten, It's only logical that I get to hold him." Sherlock held Petri even closer, almost making him invisible against Sherlock's coat.

"Why do you keep saying that? You do remember that I found him, right? Or did you delete that?" John stared at his friend in confusion, wondering when he had gotten so possessive.

"You also gave him up. _I _decided to come and get him, therefore he's mine. Obviously, John, do keep up."

"Yeah, but before that you said my kitten, remember?"

"If you ever used your brain and observed you might find that I treat everything in that flat like it's mine. Petri was in the flat and so I deemed it appropriate to call it mine."

"Yeah, but c'mon…Everything? I'm in the flat and you don't-"Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, curious to see what John would say.

"Oh. I see what you mean. So basically, nothing in that flat is really mine, is it?"

"Well…" Sherlock sneezed again; Petri was climbing up his coat and batting at his curls. "You have me. And I suppose we could share Petri."

"You really are starting to get a hang of this sentiment thing, aren't you?"

"I'm a genius, John, did you really think it would take me that long?"

"Judging that most people master sentiment at age one, it's has taken you about-"

"Thank you John, you can shut up now."

"Fine. Can I hold Petri?"

"No."

"Ok."

The pair looked at each other, and burst out laughing, remembering the first time they had made that exchange. Petri meowed, upset by Sherlock's sudden shaking. Unfortunately for the kitten, that only made him and John laugh harder.

A few weeks after rescuing Petri, John sat on his armchair writing on his blog while Sherlock lay on the couch in his infamous thinking pose. Petri was sprawled out protectively next to his petri dish of milk (They had figured out that Petri refused to drink out of anything other than his namesake).

Suddenly, Sherlock opened his eyes. "John, get me Petri."

"A petri dish?"

"What? No! Don't tell me you've forgotten that our cat is also named Petri."

"No, I just didn't think you'd want him while you're thinking."

"John, I need Petri."

"Please."

The doctor sighed, getting up out of his comfortable chair to grab the unsuspecting feline. Petri struggled at first, but when he realized where he was going he stopped. John gently dropped the kitten into Sherlock's waiting hands, affectionately shaking his head.

"Thank you." A few weeks ago, John would have fainted in shock at these words, but it was slowly becoming a common thing. For some reason, opening up the door to sentiment also helped Sherlock get some manners. Some, mind you, not a lot.

"You're welcome."

"Mmm." Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, happily watching Petri curl up on his chest and start to purr. "John? Have you ever noticed that you're similar in your actions to a kitten?"

"God no, Sherlock. Probably because I am a soldier and I can't imagine what that has to do with being like a kitten."

"The facial expressions, John. Like when you turn your head slightly. Petri does that too, when he's listening."

John sighed, shutting his laptop off and turning to look at his friend. "If Petri looks like anyone, it's you."

"Me? Are you really going down that path? Comparing me, a sociopath, to a warm cuddly creature?"

"Not all kittens, specifically, just Petri. You know, black fur, black hair, complete indifference to everyone he meets…"

"Not everyone. He loves you." Sherlock slightly mumbled this, scratching Petri behind his ears.

"Right." John smiled, passing by Sherlock on his way to the kitchen. "I guess if we're counting by who Petri loves, which is me and you, I am a lot like him."

Sherlock smiled, "Told you."

During the last few weeks, all tension had disappeared, leaving John and Sherlock to simply carry on with their adrenaline filled lives. In the few relaxed moments like this one, both the detective and his doctor were left to wonder what they were exactly, but the one difference was they didn't really care about the answer. For Sherlock, it was a new sensation, but he was starting to accept the new feelings as a part of sentiment. John, being the one more used to sentiment, had probably gotten farther on the whole relationship than Sherlock had.

They had been walking into a crime scene, and Donovan had greeted them as usual. "Hello, Freak and Freak's partner." John was used to her name calling, but she had never used the term partner before. It was surprisingly accurate. John and Sherlock were best friends, and almost inseparable now. As long as they were alive, they would always be Sherlock and John, John and Sherlock. Who knows what that entails, or what could happen in the future. They were just the doctor and the detective with their cat named Petri. And that, my friends, was that.

***Sniffle* Ok, well I'm too emotional to think of anything else to add. I love you guys so so much, thanks for your loyalty! Alert me for the drabbles, and if you have any specific Petri/Sherlock moment requests feel free to message me!**


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